


calling calling home

by vain_flower



Category: Hannibal (TV), Star Trek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Betazoid Alana Bloom, M/M, Murder Mystery, Orion Freddie Lounds, Pon Farr, Rating May Change, Romulan Beverly Katz, Vulcan Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-10-26 11:00:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17744663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vain_flower/pseuds/vain_flower
Summary: Will is deemed too 'unstable' to be given a command position within Starfleet. Instead, he's assigned to the security team of a remote planet where a series of disappearances is taking place.





	1. standing there alone

Will Graham presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, as if it would quell his rising headache.

 

The room he’s in is filled with the quiet sounds of breathing and the steady tap of fingers on the keys of a PADD. The sounds are irritatingly loud in the otherwise quiet room, wearing thin his last nerve.

 

He can hardly snap at his roommate for  _ breathing _ , though. The Andorian is typically content to ignore him, which suits Will just fine. Really, he’s one of the better roommates Will’s been assigned. If he’s being fair, it’s not the sound so much that bothers him. Mostly he just didn’t think he’d be stuck in the cramped crew quarters of an old ship at this point in his life.

 

He lets his bitterness sit within him long enough to feel his throat go tight and his eyes sting, before forcibly releasing it with a slow exhale. He ought to be thankful to be in space at all. He focuses on the hum of the ship’s engine, low and beautiful as she cuts through space at warp two.

 

The ship is getting on in years for a Constitution class vessel, probably only a few missions away from being retired. What he wouldn’t give to be on one of those missions. He would be happy to serve on the USS Shrike, old as she is.

 

Instead he’s a passenger, and his current lack of an assignment keeps him from venturing out much. The tap tap tap coming from the other side of the room makes him debate the merits of it now, but it’s unlikely that he’ll be able to find any place to get a modicum of peace.

 

Such is the nature of twenty-four hour spaceship operation, making it hard for him to avoid social interaction. He checks his chronometer. Not too long now before he has to disembark, leaving the final frontier to be explored by someone else.

 

He should probably grab something to eat before he’s planetside, figuring he’s going to have to deal with the typical Starfleet bureaucracy when he touches down. No telling when his next meal will be if he skips one now.

 

Scrubbing his hand over his face, he abandons his bed in favor the the bathroom. He can hear music from his suitemates’ room, though it’s more the feeling of bass than anything else. The sonic shower blurs out the noise of it entirely, and leaves his skin buzzing. 

 

Once in uniform, he heads for the mess. It’s not as crowded as it could be, a little early for lunch for anyone working second shift. He keeps his head down, previewing the preprogrammed meals in the replicator.

 

“The Romulan fish tacos are pretty good,” a voice behind him says, making him startle and he inadvertently jabs the screen.

 

The replicator spits out his accidental order. It looks like soup, but it’s startlingly  _ orange _ with a few unidentifiable vegetables. The replicator screen declares  it as  _ plomeek _ .  With a sigh Will grabs it and turns to find a familiar and apologetic smile.

 

“Sorry,” she says, depositing her own plastic utensils in the recycling unit. “Um, I have a few minutes before I have to get back to the bridge, do you mind the company?”

 

Her bright eyes are hopeful, her smile genuine, and Will consents to follow her to an empty table, watching the swing of her long blonde ponytail.

 

“I’m sorry we haven’t talked lately,” she says as he takes the seat opposite her. “Being on the same ship and all.” She’s turned towards him, open and honest and Will doesn’t know why he hates that so much.

 

“I imagine you have a lot of work to do, Lieutenant Lass,” Will says, voice tight.

 

Her smile falters. “Will, please. Don’t do that, not with me.”

 

Will can’t meet her eyes, and instead stares down at his soup, swirling his spoon through it.

 

Miriam doesn’t let his awkwardness deter her.  “Gomeisa III, huh? That’s exciting, all the way out on the edge of Federation space. Lots of ships coming through, all sorts of people eager to see what’s still out there.”

 

Will nods. “Like the Shrike,” he says. “It’s just a stop. I hear that another potential M class planet awaits you after this.”

 

Miriam bites her lip, possibly to hide her enthusiasm a little, for his sake, but Will can see it.

 

“It’s not a permanent assignment,” she says gently. “And I know Crawford. He used to serve with my dad. He’s a good guy, I think you’ll like working for him.”

 

Will busies himself with eating his soup. The broth doesn’t taste like much, but whatever looks like bean sprouts are surprisingly crunchy, with a little burst of spice and flavor as he chews.

 

“Just a few years and I’m sure you can apply for a transfer. I’m sure Jack will write you a letter of recommendation. You’ll make it onto a ship, even if it’s not how you expected.”

 

This is why he hates coming to the mess, seeing his classmates from the Academy move on to the careers they wanted, while he’s being shunted off to some distant colony. Miriam, in particular, dressed in Command gold, already a lieutenant.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says, and her sincerity doesn’t make it hurt any less. “I know how hard you worked for a command position.”

 

Will nods, just a jerk of his head. He can’t look at her. He’s lucky they let him graduate at all.

 

“A good work record and a recommendation from someone like Jack can go a long way. Just promise me you’ll try to make it work.”

 

Will scoffs. “You think they’re going to let someone  _ unstable _ serve on a spaceship? This is their way of getting rid of me.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her brow furrow and he knows he shouldn’t take it out on her.

 

“You should talk to someone on Gomeisa about what happened,” she says, choosing to ignore his words.

 

“You mean a shrink.”

 

“I think it would be good for you,” she says, and Will knows she doesn’t have any idea what his mileage with the professions of psychiatry and psychology has been like.

 

His communicator chirps at him, sparing him from having to respond. “Looks like it’s that time,” he says, shoveling a few final spoonfuls of soup into his mouth.

 

Miriam smiles at him. “Try to have a good time?” she suggests.

 

“Yeah,” Will says, standing and dropping what’s left of his soup into the recycler. He leaves the mess without looking back.

 

He swings by his room one last time to collect his things. His roommate hasn’t moved from his position, still prodding at his PADD, paying him no mind as Will moves about the room. Will considers saying something, thinks better of it, and he tries not to resent the sound of the door whooshing shut behind him for the last time.

 

He’s still fuming about the turn his life has taken when he nearly collides with someone else on their way to the shuttle bay. When he looks he’s surprised to see that she’s not Starfleet, dressed in a smart red suit instead of a uniform, with lustrous dark hair that falls about her shoulders.

 

“Sorry,” she says.

 

“No, that was-- I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

 

His eyes pass over her face, and he intends to make it brief, but he finds his gaze arrested by her own. Her irises are solid black, giving her away as a Betazoid rather than a human as he had first assumed.

 

She’s quite pretty, her face open and friendly. He can see her eyes take him in, flicking over his uniform and his single bag.

 

“You’re going to Gomeisa?” she asks, though it must be obvious.

 

“Yeah,” Will says, and he trails behind her as she starts making her way once again to the shuttle bay. “I’ll be joining Starfleet’s security team stationed there. What about you? No offense, but you don’t look much like a homesteader.”

 

She laughs. “A colleague of mine has lived here for quite some time, and he told me that his clinic had an open position. Apparently the colony has been expanding faster than it’s been able to keep up with.”

 

“You could be a doctor anywhere, though,” Will says, having a hard time believing anyone would come out here by choice.

 

She smiles, and Will wonders how much she knows of what he’s thinking.

 

“I want to be a doctor here. Alana Bloom, by the way.”

 

“Will Graham. It’s nice to meet you.”

 

“The pleasure is mine,” she says, as they join a handful of other people in the shuttle bay. Dr. Bloom is the only civilian, everyone else in red uniforms save for a few science blues.

 

The shuttle itself is a little cramped, and Will buckles himself in by Alana. Mind readers have always made him a little uncomfortable but he’d still rather sit with her than the other security personnel, his ego still smarting a little that he’s having to depart from the Shrike at all. She magnanimously doesn’t comment on it, telling him instead of her current research that she hopes to continue on Gomeisa.

 

Will, never a fan of conversation, finds her surprisingly easy to talk to. He wonders how much of that is her Betazoid telepathy, reading his discomfort and reacting accordingly.  Normally it would make him a little uneasy, but talking with her, the flight goes quickly.

 

Touching down goes smoothly enough. Will hangs back, waiting for the other personnel to file out before following.  He hadn’t looked at any pictures of Gomeisa after hearing about his assignment, not caring one way or another about it, but he has to grudgingly admit that it’s beautiful.

 

The planet’s rings arc overhead, strips of white in an otherwise blue sky. The surrounding buildings are either glass or white clay where they aren’t covered with vibrant green plant life. The landing pad is on the outskirts of the settlement, but slightly elevated, offering an impressive view. He’d thought Gomeisa would be about as backwater as it gets, but he has to grudgingly admit it looks nearly like a proper city.

 

Will falls into line with the other Starfleet personnel as a few uniformed officers approach. He hears the shuttle take off once again and he knows he’s imagining the finality of the sound as it fades out, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. 

 

A flash of light catches Will’s eye and he glances over to where a few civilians have gathered next to the landing pad. The afternoon sun glints off the lens of a recording drone. It hovers just over the shoulder of a green skinned woman who watches them with an uncomfortable amount of interest.

 

Will turns his attention back to the officers when one of them begins speaking.

 

“I’m Lieutenant Commander Jack Crawford,” the man says. “I’m head of security here on Gomeisa III. Before anything else, you’re checking in with medical. Lieutenant Katz here will escort you.”

 

He nods to one of the officers next to him, dressed in security red. Her eyebrows sweep up starkly, and her long black hair is pulled back, revealing pointed ears. Will wonders why a Vulcan would choose Starfleet security over their Science Academy.

 

“ Any questions you may have can be directed to her,” Crawford continues. “Otherwise, your assignments will be sent to your PADDs, along with your living arrangements and a map of the colony.”

 

Will is surprised by his brevity, watching as the Lieutenant Commander turns away. During his speech, the woman with the drone had come closer and now attempts to block his path.

 

“Lieutenant Commander Crawford,” she starts, “is it true that--”

 

“Someone escort Ms. Lounds off the premises,” Jack says, not even looking at the woman in question as he brushes past her.

 

Lieutenant Katz shares a look with the other two officers.

 

“That’s on you guys,” Katz says before turning to the new arrivals. “Let’s get you all over to medical.” She motions for everyone to follow her.

 

The woman Crawford had referred to as Ms. Lounds turns her drone on their group. It turns in a little semicircle, obviously taking in all of them. She’s close enough now that Will can smell her and from the reaction of some of the other men in their group, so can they. Orion, then. Simply getting a recording of them seems to be enough for her, though, as she turns from the group, ignoring the two officers trying to corral her away, like leaving was her own idea.

 

“Tip number one,” Katz says, with a half smile “Avoid Freddie Lounds.”

 

It makes Will rethink his earlier assessment; she’s no Vulcan. He can’t decide whether a Romulan leaving their Empire to join the ranks of Starfleet is more or less likely than a Vulcan passing on the VSA.

 

“Tip number two, taxis are the fastest way to get around town, if you want to pay for them,” she says. “But Starfleet personnel get free access to the air tram.”

 

She then winks at Alana. “I’ll cover you this time, Dr. Bloom.”

 

Will can see the brief look of surprise that passes over Alana’s face, and he wonders what thoughts she’s getting a read on because she turns a little pink.  Lieutenant Katz guides them to the nearest air tram station, and sits with Will and Alana.

 

Will busies himself with checking his PADD for the clinic information as Lieutenant Katz talks with Dr. Bloom.

 

“Dr. L’hek Terin Haneshbel?” Will mouths slowly, sotto voice. “What is that, uh--”

 

“It’s Vulcan,” Alana say, biting her lip to hide her smile, but Lieutenant Katz just laughs.

 

“You don’t want to know what you just said,” she tells him.

 

Will feels his face heat. Xenolinguistics has never been his strong suit. He can introduce himself, ask for directions and count to ten in a couple of the more common languages, but the existence of a universal translator has kept him from seeing the need to pursue it seriously.

 

The translator doesn’t help much with name pronunciation though. He tells himself it’s more likely that he’ll deal with a nurse rather than the doctor himself. Probably no need to worry about it.

 

He clears his throat, trying to think of something to change the subject. “What is this about Amhirine Syndrome? Figure they’d have hypo’d me before leaving Earth.”

 

Alana at least accepts his attempt to switch topics, but Katz is still snickering. “It’s just that the active ingredient doesn’t keep long enough to ship off planet. Part of the reason I’m here, actually,” Alana says.

 

“Nothing to worry about,” Lieutenant Katz interjects. “Just severe neurological damage if you drink the water.”

 

“Bet it was fun figuring that out,” Will says.

 

“Planet surveying is better than it used to be,” Alana says, with a glance to Katz. “Fortunately it was detected before construction began, and Dr. Haneshbel was able to create a hypospray to counteract the effects.” The way she says Haneshbel is entirely different from how Will had; in her voice it sounds almost musical.

 

It makes Beverly smirk again, though Will decides not to comment on it, turning his attention to the wide windows of the tram. The colony passes by in a blur of green and white. The city center is somewhat more stark, some of the buildings all steel and glass, but they reflect the blueness of the sky. The clinic is one such building, directly across the street from the tram station.

 

It’s bustling with patients, but Will’s name is called pretty quickly. A nurse leads him back to a room with a biobed, which immediately comes to life as he sits on it, lighting up screens with his blood pressure, temperature and heart rate.

 

The door opens again, admitting a tall Vulcan. He has the typical dark hair that all Vulcans share, though it’s starting to go a little silver. Will doesn’t know too much about how Vulcans age, aside from the fact that they outlive humans by quite a bit, but if this man were human, Will would peg his age at about forty.

 

“Ensign Graham, is it?” he asks, Vulcan accent faint, but obvious.

 

“Yeah,” Will says, and then shuts his mouth, determined not to make a fool of himself.

 

“I’m Dr. Lecter,” the Vulcan introduces himself, taking Will aback.

 

“That’s not--” Will starts.

 

“Not a Vulcan name, no. Gomeisa is eighty-six point four percent human. Most of my patients find it easier to pronounce.”

 

Will is grateful at least that he’s not going to butcher the man’s name, but he chafes a little at being interrupted.

 

“Well, Dr. Lecter,” he says, putting emphasis on the name. “I suppose that’s… logical.”

 

Dr. Lecter pauses and looks at him for a moment, head tilted slightly. “It is logical. It’s been my experience that humans lack both the desire and the talent to pursue xenolinguistics. In particular, Vulcan is said to be a challenging language.”

 

_ Typical _ , Will thinks. He’s never met a Vulcan that doesn’t think they’re better than everyone else.

 

“You don’t like them butchering your name,” Will says. “You can say you do it for your patients, but I think it’s purely selfish.”

 

Dr. Lecter regards him with a Vulcan’s standard blank expression. Finally, he nods, just fractionally, but Will takes it as a victory.

 

“I’ll admit, the benefits are twofold. It does save my human patients from embarrassment, and therefore cuts down on their tedious apologies. Using a human name has boosted my productivity nearly twenty-three percent.”

 

“If humans are so off-putting, why not go to New Vulcan?” Will scoffs. “Or are they at capacity for narcissist doctors?”

 

Dr. Lecter raises a sharply sloped eyebrow. “An interesting assessment. Those afflicted with narcissistic personality disorder experience an inflated sense of self worth coupled with a lack of empathy. Humans so often assume that Vulcans lack empathy, but it is not mutually exclusive with logic.”

 

“Are you telling me Vulcans are too logical to suffer from mental disorders?”

 

“Hardly,” Dr. Lecter says, and Will thinks he can see the ghost of a smile on his face. Gone in an instant, he wonders if he imagined it. “Vulcan brain chemistry is no less prone to cause disorder than in any other species. Fortunately it is easily caught and treated.”

 

“So what, no Vulcan psychopaths?”

 

_ That _ provokes a smile.

 

“Not that I’ve encountered,” Dr. Lecter says.  

 

He turns his back to Will, synthesizing a hypo from his replicator. Will tries to clear his mind as the doctor approaches, not wanting any errant thought to be picked up by the Vulcan’s touch telepathy. He turns his head, exposing his neck, and the hypo hisses as it contacts his skin, stinging slightly.  Dr. Lecter lingers longer than Will was expecting.

 

“Your psi rating must be quite high,” he remarks. “Betazoid heritage, perhaps?”

 

He must feel Will’s anger and panic at their continued proximity, and he eases the distance between them to something more socially acceptable, but still closer than Will would like.

 

“Could be,” Will shrugs. “Never knew my mother, and my dad wouldn’t talk about her. I suppose she could have been anything.”

 

“And you’re not curious?” Dr. Lecter prompts.

 

“And you’re not my shrink,” Will snaps back, peevish.

 

“So I’m not,” Dr. Lecter agrees. “Heaven forbid we become friendly.”

 

“I don’t find you that interesting.”

 

Dr. Lecter takes his remark with all the usual grace of a Vulcan, his face giving away nothing. “You will.”

 

Will huffs a laugh as he stands from the biobed.

 

“Your temperature is slightly elevated,” Dr. Lecter notes, changing the subject. “You should come back tomorrow, so I can ensure you are not experiencing any adverse effects.”

 

“Anything I should look out for?” Will asks.

 

“A little tenderness at the injection site is common, and the more severe side effects are rare in humans. If there is any rash, or swelling, you should come to the clinic immediately.”

 

“Right,” Will says. “I’ll keep an eye out. See you around, Dr. Lecter.”

 

“Please, call me Hannibal,” the doctor says, raising his hand in a Vulcan salute.

 

Will just nods, and leaves the room as quickly as he thinks is still polite.  Outside of the clinic, the breeze instantly makes him feel better. He’s surprised to see the Romulan lieutenant waiting outside, leaning casually against the wall, reading something on her PADD.

 

“Hey,” she says, looking up at him with a smile. “Took you long enough, everyone else has already left.”

 

“Yeah. You could have told me that Dr. Lecter chose to go by an easily pronounceable name.”

 

She laughs. “Where’s the fun in that?” She pushes herself off the wall. “You’re quartered in zone three, right? That’s where I am, too.” 

 

Will follows behind her. She doesn’t head for the tram, seemingly content to enjoy the cool air of early Gomeisan autumn. 

 

“Enjoy your visit with the good doctor?” she asks.

 

Will frowns. “You don’t like him?” he asks.

 

“Mm. I can’t say that he’s been anything less than professional. Never been given any reason not to like him.”

 

Will laughs to himself. “I think I know what you mean.”

 

The rest of their walk passes without incidence. Will hardly ever feels comfortable around others but Lieutenant Katz has an easy air about her, pointing out various landmarks on the way to zone three.

 

“Ah, shit,” she says suddenly, voice low. “Get ready.”

 

Will is instantly on alert, scanning for any threat, but Lieutenant Katz seems to be talking about the Orion woman he saw earlier. She still has the little recording drone hanging over her shoulder, and she’s demanding entrance into a tall building.

 

This close, Will can see that she’s rather pretty, petite with shockingly red hair in contrast to her green skin.

 

The human security officer outside of it looks a little harried, and when he sees Lieutenant Katz, he gives her a pleading look. The Orion woman must catch it, because she turns to look at them, her little drone turning to, a solid red light indicating that she’s recording.  Her eyes flick over Will, taking in his red shirt, before settling on Lieutenant Katz.

 

“Beverly,” she says with a coy smile. Her voice sends a shiver down Will’s spine.

 

“Freddie,” Lieutenant Katz responds, mimicking the Orion’s tone. “Stop harassing my ensigns.”

 

“I’m not bothering anyone,” she says, stepping closer.

 

Will can smell her, even from a few feet away, and he has to turn his head and breathe through his mouth. He can see Freddie’s smirk out of the corner of his eye; she knows the effect she has on him.

 

“Dial it back, Lounds,” Beverly says, voice gone sharp.

 

“People are going missing, and the colonists have a right to know what’s going on,” Freddie says, drone locking in on Beverly.

 

Will does feel like he can breathe again though, but it’s short lived as the drone swivels to him.

 

“No doubt as an ensign, Jack will keep you as in the dark as the rest of us. I’m sure we could help each other out. You can look me up on the ‘net. I run TattleCrime, the only news source on this colony willing to pursue actual news.” She gives Lieutenant Katz a look and turns on her heel, stalking off.

 

Beverly sighs and addresses the ensign who was keeping watch on the building. “Thanks for fending her off. I don’t want her in this building. Find out how she keeps getting the access codes.” Then, to Will she says, “Come on, I’ll show you your quarters.”


	2. the ship is waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will looks into TattleCrime and finds that several people have gone missing. He talks to Lieutenant Katz and gets put on the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up for anyone who is unfamiliar with various Star Trek races, one of the missing persons is Andorian. 
> 
> Andorians have blue skin, white hair and cranial antennae. They also have four genders, that you can read up on here: https://wiki.starbase118.net/wiki/index.php?title=Andorian/Gender_and_Reproduction
> 
> I hope it's not too confusing that I chose to use Andorian pronouns for those characters.
> 
> Bedelia also makes an appearance. I have written her as a Vulcan, and again, I hope that changing names to suit alien naming conventions isn't too jarring.

Will’s quarters are hardly luxurious, a simple studio layout that’s not much more than a square with an attached bathroom and a single window on the far wall. There’s only one bed. Compared to his dorm while at Starfleet and the cramped quarters of the Shrike, it feels palatial.

 

He checks the bathroom, and as he had hoped, there’s a proper shower. After a month of using the sonic on the Shrike, he starts it up, luxuriating under the spray.

 

Once he’s satisfied, he takes a closer look at the little apartment. His things have already been moved to his room, but he really hadn’t brought much.  As far as furnishings though, he has a desk and computer, a couch and a low coffee table. No real kitchen, but at least he has his own replicator.

 

The window shows the green and white buildings of Gomeisa stretching out until it reaches the thick green forest that fills the horizon. For the first time, he almost doesn’t hate what’s happened to him, the vista of an alien world taking the sting away.

 

“Computer, pull up TattleCrime,” he says, turning from the window, curiosity getting the best of him.

 

The computer screen flashes to life and Will wanders over, sitting in the chair by the desk.

 

The top story contains a vid of all the new personnel disembarking from their shuttle, and Will can make out himself and Alana. The headline indicates that they’ve been hired because of a rash of disappearances, rather than a result of colony growth.

 

Will scrolls down, seeing the next article is pinned, promising updates on all the missing colonists. He clicks on it, looking over the names of the missing.

 

_ Thass Zh’vaokher, Andorian zhen, nineteen. _

 

_ M’us, Caitian female, twenty. _

 

_ Ress Crell, Tellarite female, seventeen. _

 

And so the list goes, seven missing so far. Each name has a picture next to it.

 

“They’re all young,” Will says to himself, softly. He lets his eyes close, the smiling faces of the missing persons flashing before his mind’s eye.  

 

“And no missing humans, so far…” That could be significant.

 

The oldest case is nearly a year old, and the most recent disappearance was just last week. Thass Zh’vaokher. In the picture zha’s smiling, skin a brilliant blue, delicate antennae rising out of zhar silver hair.

 

He tries to check the Starfleet security files and sees he’s locked out of anything that’s not public access. He could chalk it up to bureaucracy, his credentials just not yet set to give him access to such files. But he thinks it’s most likely his status as an ensign. Or worse, his status as a  _ mentally unstable _ ensign. They’ll hardly give him that kind of access with his history.

 

One way to find out, though, he thinks, determined to catch up with Lieutenant Commander Crawford in the morning to get put on the case.

 

He spends the rest of the evening unpacking the few possessions he brought with him and fiddling with the replicator, trying to get it to spit out half decent whiskey. His efforts are only partially in vain; the result is definitely alcoholic if not particularly palatable.

 

His alarm wakes him the next morning with plenty of time to get ready for his first shift starting at 0800. He feels like death warmed over, mouth dry and eyes gummy. He’s going to have to fight with the replicator some more or find an actual liquor store.

 

He forces himself out of bed and into the shower. He wants to talk to Jack before his shift starts, rushing through his morning ablutions and catching an early tram to the security station.

 

“Lieutenant Commander,” Will calls out, jogging to catch up with the man as soon as he sights him. It’s fifteen minutes before his shift officially starts.

 

Jack turns and looks at him, expression as unreadable as a Vulcan’s. “Can I help you, ensign?”

 

“I wanted to talk to you about the missing persons, if you have a minute.”

 

“I don’t have a minute,” the Lieutenant Commander says brusquely. “Report to Lieutenant Katz for your assignment.”

 

“But sir--”

 

“Ensign, we have some of our best officers on the case. You’re dismissed.”

 

Will has to resist the urge to yell, not wanting to get off on the wrong foot with his commanding officer before his first shift even starts. He watches Jack walk off, inwardly fuming. Finally he goes in search of Beverly.

 

“Lieutenant,” he greets her when he finds her office.

 

She doesn’t look entirely awake yet, drinking out of a steaming mug of coffee. “Hey, you’re early. You know, no one likes a kiss ass, Graham,” she teases, but her tone is friendly.

 

“Before you assign me to anything, I wanted to specifically request to be on the missing persons case.”

 

The request seems to wake her up. “Is that what you were talking to Jack about? Word of advice: always wait until he’s had his coffee to talk to him in the mornings.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Will says. “But the case?”

 

“How do you even know about that? You haven’t been on Gomeisa for twenty-four hours.”

 

“I checked out TattleCrime,” Will admits. “There’s a list of everyone who’s gone missing.”

 

Beverly swears in Romulan. “That woman is worse than a  _ hnoyika _ ! Don’t read that shit, Graham.”

 

“That  _ shit _ at least let me know what’s going on. I know I can help find the killer.”

 

Beverly nearly leaps up to slam her door shut, definitely awake now. “Keep your  _ vrathen _ voice down,” she hisses. “There’s no evidence that they’re dead and I don’t want this colony in a panic.”

 

Will refuses to be rattled. “I know I can help. I can track down whoever is doing this.”

 

Beverly takes a slow, deep breath. “I’ve read your file, Graham. I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure we need your kind of help.”

 

Will flushes, but he’s determined. “So you’d rather people continue going missing than bring someone to justice?”

 

“Is that what they’re calling it these days? Killing another student is justice?”

 

“I killed him to keep him from killing anyone else. If I hadn’t acted, that girl would have died,” Will argues. “No one else would have found him.”

 

“You can’t know that! He would have messed up at some point.”

 

“At some point,” Will agrees. “But how many more people would have died before then?”

 

Beverly rubs her temples. “Fuck. Fine. Crawford’s gonna have my ass for this. Get us results fast or I’ll make sure you’re on the shittiest assignments for as long as you’re stuck on Gomeisa.”

 

“Thank you,” Will says.

 

“Don’t thank me yet. Fuck, come on, I’ll introduce you to Price. He and Zeller are in charge of the investigation.”

 

Will follows her down the hall to what looks like a conference room. There are computer screens covering the walls, each with information about the various missing persons, including maps of where they were last scene and places they frequented. There are two Denobulans arguing in front of a screen with Thass Zh’vaokher’s smiling face on it.

 

Lieutenant Katz interrupts them by clearing her throat. “I’ve got you guys another helper.”

 

The Denobulans both look at Will dubiously. 

 

“An ensign?” One of them asks.

 

“Zeller, this is Ensign Graham. Graham, these are Lieutenants Zeller and Price. Graham here discovered one of his fellow students at the Academy was a killer, and put an end to it.”

 

The Denobulan that hadn’t spoken yet, who must be Price, speaks now. “I think I read about that. He was killing off trainees who looked like his sister, isn’t that right? And he almost killed her, too. I always wondered how you figured out it was him.”

 

Will hesitates. Not everyone is a fan of his little trick. “I don’t know if it’s an empathy disorder or a high psi rating, but I can… dissect a crime scene. Particularly violent ones, and know what the perpetrator was… feeling. I can understand their motivation.”

 

None of them particularly look like they believe him. But Price finally says, “If that’s true, that’s the best lead we have so far. We’re not entirely sure where she was when she disappeared, but you can have access to the Vaokher home and the security footage around the time when zha went missing. Unfortunately, zha went out of range of the cameras, so we’re not sure what happened. The area is still cordoned off though. You can take a look.”

 

Will stifles his sigh of relief. “Thank you. I’m… sure you’ve already noticed none of the victims are human?”

 

Zeller nods. “No humans, all young. We’ve picked up on that, but we’re still not sure why they might be a target. Racially motivated crimes unfortunately aren’t isolated incidents. You’d think we’d have moved past that, but I guess it is what it is.”

 

“I’ll transfer our data to your PADD. There are a few people we still haven’t been able to talk to. With regular security and now this shit, we’re spread pretty thin. Hope you don’t mind the busy work. But maybe you’ll find something,” Price says brightly.

 

Will’s PADD chirps as the data goes through.

 

Beverly sighs. “If Jack gets on me about this, I’ll point him in your direction.” She stalks out of the room.

 

“Well,” Price says. “You have your list of names, all our evidence. Go forth!”

 

Will nods, reviewing the data he’s just received as he leaves the building. It seems Thass was a student, and there are a few of zhar classmates’ names as people who still need to be interviewed.

 

The school is a short distance away from the security station, and classes are in session. Fortunately the school administration is willing to work with him when they see his Starfleet uniform. Thass isn’t their first student to have gone missing, and they’re quite eager to accommodate him if it means he can prevent more disappearances.

 

They even pull a few students from their classes so that he can talk to them. They’re all Andorian, and none seem particularly willing to talk to him. He’s not great at differentiating between the four Andorian sexes, but if he were to use the old human binary, he would think one was female and the other two were male.

 

“Please talk to me,” Will says. “I know you want Thass to come home, but I can’t help zhar unless you help me.”

 

That seems to move one of them at least. The Andorian looks female, meaning she is either zhen, like Thass, or shen. It’s not terribly impolite to use human pronouns for them if you don’t know otherwise, or at least, most of them won’t hold it against you. “Zh’yi was--”

 

“Shreraas, hold sha tongue!”

 

“No!” Shreraas says. “Zh’yi was carrying our child! If telling this human what happened helps to find Thass, I don’t care!”

 

Will is a little surprised. They all seem terribly young to come together to make a child, though he doesn’t know too much about Andorian reproduction, just that it takes all four genders, and zhen are the ones to carry children to term.

 

“Can you think of anyone who may have tried to hurt Thass?” he asks.

 

None of them can think of anyone. Thass was a good student, well liked, part of the model Federation and student body president.

 

When Will leaves, he feels like he knows even less than when he started.

 

The rest of the day continues in much the same way. He pores over every piece of evidence they have, but whoever is responsible has left them nothing. Will doesn’t feel any closer to understanding them.

 

After his shift, he heads to the clinic for his checkup. He hasn’t felt any adverse effects from the hypo, but he supposes it never hurts to check. It’s just his luck that he finds himself saddled again with Dr. Lecter instead of a nurse.

 

“You look tired, Will,” Dr. Lecter says, and the familiarity with which he’s addressed doesn’t sit quite right.

 

“Par for the course, I suppose,” Will says, nonchalant. “I’ve lived through worse.”

 

The doctor hums softly, touching Will’s neck where he had been injected the previous day. “I’ve repeatedly told Lieutenant Commander Crawford to give his employees more time to adjust to a new planet, but he doesn’t listen. Any tenderness here?”

 

“No,” Will says, keeping his answers short. He’s not in the mood for small talk, his mind occupied by thoughts of Thass.

 

“We could talk about what’s weighing so heavily on you, then, if you prefer. Thass, is it?”

 

Will flinches away from the hand on him. “Don’t,” he says forcefully. “Don’t ever read my mind like that.”

 

“I cannot turn my abilities off any more than you can. I looked at your chart; your psi rating is nearly unheard of for a human. I didn’t mean to intrude, but your thoughts are loudly broadcast.”

 

Will glowers at him.

 

Dr. Lecter presses on, unperturbed. “I’d like to help you, Will.”

 

“And how do you propose you do that? Or do you consult for Starfleet security in your off hours?”

 

“I don’t think Jack Crawford is particularly interested in my opinion. At least, not until a body turns up. It’s you I’d like to help.”

 

Will huffs a laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure the Lieutenant Commander would be thrilled with me talking case details to a civilian.”

 

Dr. Lecter inclines his head. “How fortunate for us that doctor patient confidentiality exists.”

 

Will drags a hand through his hair. “You don’t give up, do you? It would help if I knew where they were being taken from, if I could  _ see _ it,” he tries to explain. “It’s so opaque to me right now.”

 

Dr. Lecter nods, and sits in the chair opposite the biobed Will is perched on. “What can you see, right now?”

 

Will closes his eyes, but all he sees is the red of his own eyelids. He shakes his head.

 

“There’s just not enough. If I had more to go on-- but I’m worried I’ll only get that the next time a girl goes missing--”

 

Which isn’t  _ quite _ right; not all of the aliens are female in the strictest sense, but--

 

Will feels Hannibal’s gentle touch at his wrist, and his skin is startlingly warm. “Find the thread, Will. What do they have in common? You can see them, can’t you? What draws you to them?”

 

“Thass was pregnant. They all-- they all  _ could become _ pregnant. I see that and I--  _ Shit _ , I don’t know!”

 

Will pulls his arm from Hannibal’s grip and opens his eyes. “I need to  _ see _ ! I need to see where he’s taking them from--”

 

“How will that help you?” Hannibal asks.

 

Of course, he has no idea what Will does, what he’s capable of.  “If I can see what he’s done, where he’s done it I can… feel  _ how _ he’s done it. And  _ why. _ But this, there’s nothing here, no substance, just void. I can’t work with that.”

 

“What a remarkable gift you have,” Hannibal murmurs.

 

Will’s eyes snap to his. “I don’t know if I would call it a gift.”

 

“If it helps you track down whoever is responsible in this case, I doubt I’ll be the only one to think so. To solve something in such a way, beyond the scope of logic--”

 

“Crimes can’t always be solved by logic, doctor, especially when humans are involved.”

 

“What makes you think a human is involved?” Dr. Lecter asks.

 

Will is startled by the question. “I-- I don’t know.”

 

“Don’t you?”

 

Will shakes his head. “It’s just a feeling.”

 

Dr. Lecter looks thoughtful. “Well,” he says, “at least you are right on one count. Trying to apply logic to human behavior is… well, a Vulcan might say  _ ya lukaan t’muut _ : even should you come to die, you shall not find it.”

 

Will laughs. “I feel like I should be insulted.”

 

Hannibal smiles slightly. “Would you not agree that much of human, or even nonhuman, behavior escapes understanding? Particularly when it comes to this sort of disappearance?”

 

“Unfortunately I can understand just fine,” Will admits. He thinks back to the missing girls from the Academy, and the cadet he killed as a result. Running his tongue over his bottom lip, Will considers if he should say any more. “Taking on another person’s perspective, it’s all too easy. Logical, no, but it doesn’t have to be logical for me to understand it.”

 

“It’s certainly an impressive ability, but I can see that it causes you stress. You spoke of not seeing it as a gift, but what do you consider it?”

 

“A gift, no. Although I mean, I’m helping people, right? Vulcans have a saying for that too, don’t they?”

 

Hannibal nods. “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

 

“Or the one,” Will finishes.

 

Hannibal watches him for a moment, the silence stretching between them. “Would you accept an invitation for dinner tomorrow evening?” he finally asks.

 

“Moving a little fast, aren’t you doctor?” Will asks in surprise, but he nearly immediately regrets his words, feeling his face heat.

 

Dr. Lecter raises an eyebrow and Will wants to kick himself. “I merely thought we might continue our conversation somewhere more comfortable, and when I do not have other patients that need attending. I would be delighted to cook for you.”

 

Will vows to never attempt flirtation again. “Sure,” he says, though he’s not sure at all. He decides to think about it tonight, and decide if he wants to cancel tomorrow.

 

“Excellent,” Dr. Lecter says. “Shall I pick you up after your shift?”

 

“That’s a little early for dinner, isn’t it?”

 

“I thought you might like to accompany me to the farmer’s market, perhaps have some say in the menu?”

 

Will blinks in surprise. “You’re serious about cooking then? You don’t just want to get something out of the replicator?”

 

Hannibal looks momentarily aggrieved. “I am serious about cooking,” he says as he schools his face back into Vulcan calm. “There really is no substitute for a home cooked meal.”

 

“Oh, alright then. After work tomorrow.”

 

“I look forward to it, Will,” Hannibal says, raising his hand in the ta’al. “Enjoy your evening.”

 

\----

 

Evening settles purple over the city center. Gomeisa is always a little too cool, a little too wet to be entirely comfortable for Vulcan physiology, and this evening is no different. Still, Hannibal stops as he leaves the clinic for the evening, appreciating the view, so different from the red sands of his childhood.

 

He had spent longer than he intended, speaking with the curious human, Will Graham, and now he’s going to be late to his own appointment. He makes his way to his vehicle, parked behind the clinic. 

 

His drive takes him to the outskirts of the colony, where the towering apartments give way to larger private residences settled between rolling hills. It’s outside one of these that he parks.

 

T’Maureh Behd T’Lia, the only other Vulcan on Gomeisa, opens the door moments after he knocks, regarding him with a cool, impassive look.

 

“You’re late,” she says, moving away from the door as indication for him to enter.

 

“My apologies,” Hannibal says, following her into her sitting room. Her decor choices follow the stark, minimalistic Vulcan aesthetic, at once both pleasing and calming. Somewhere in the house, a chronometer tics faintly.

 

On the low table next to Hannibal’s usual seat is a cup of tea, still slightly steaming; he wasn’t too late, it would seem. “I had to stay with a patient longer than expected.”

 

He sits, and T’Lia settles into her own seat across from him, straight backed and serious. Her blonde hair, so rare for a Vulcan, falls over one shoulder. Her gaze, as always, is disconcertingly piercing.

 

“In seven years you haven’t been late to our appointments,” she says, her words chosen carefully. “It must have been an exceptional case.”

 

Hannibal considers how best to respond, the chronometer loud in the silence between them.  “We had an influx of new Starfleet personnel,” he finally decides on, though he does not elaborate.

 

T’Lia uncrosses and recrosses her legs, as close as most Vulcans ever get to showing displeasure.

 

“I want you to be honest with me.”

 

“Vulcans do not lie,” he reminds her.

 

“No,” she agrees. “Vulcans do not. Not outright.”

 

“You’re suggesting I’m not telling you the whole truth?”

 

She inclines her head slightly. “Tell me about this patient that kept you.”

 

Hannibal takes a sip of his tea while he considers, relishing the sharp taste of  _ n’gaan _ root. “It merely took longer than expected to administer all of the Admhirine hyposprays.”

 

T’Lia takes this knowledge in, swirling her spoon through her own cup of tea, the soft scrape of metal on china loud in the quiet room. “I see,” she says in a voice that suggests she can see right through him. “A perfectly logical reason to be late.”

 

They are both silent for a moment until T’Lia speaks again. 

 

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you--” she begins.

 

“A reminder isn’t necessary,” Hannibal interrupts.  “I can keep track of the years at least as well as you can.”

 

“You have very little time,” T’Lia says, ignoring his words. Her face is carefully blank but her eyes are sharp. “Weeks. If that.”

 

“I am aware.”

 

T’Lia sets her cup and saucer down with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. “And still? You won’t--” she cuts herself off this time.

 

“You asked earlier about the particular patient that kept me,” Hannibal says.

 

T’Lia’s gaze is sharp enough to cut.  “Have you forgotten so quickly the events just seven years ago?”

 

“Will is not Anthony,” Hannibal says.

 

“Will you ask me to have another death on my hands?”

 

“You chose to help. I did not ask you. And Will’s psi-rating--”

 

“Is that all? That you think he may possess an adequate psi-rating is enough to endanger his life?”

 

“What Will has is pure empathy,” Hannibal tries to explain. “He can assume your point of view, or mine-- and maybe some other points of view that scare him.”

 

“It’s nice when someone sees us, Haneshbel. If you care about him, there’s nothing I can do about that. But do not put him through this.”

 

“There are documented cases of humans withstanding the Fever,” Hannibal protests.

 

“Not with you,” T’Lia counters. “I am begging you to reconsider.”

 

“And spend my time with you?” Hannibal asks, because he knows that’s her end goal here, why she came to Gomeisa in the first place, and why she hasn’t left since.

 

“There are documented cases of myself withstanding the Fever,” she says, turning his own words against him.

 

“I will consider it,” he concedes. He has no particular interest in T’Lia, much less bonding with her, a possibility when the Fever robs all logic from its sufferers, but he is at least not so stubborn as to die just to spite her desires.

 

T’Lia does not look mollified by his concession. “You’re serious about pursuing this-- this  _ human _ . And what if he does not consent? What will you do, force him?”

 

“I have time,” Hannibal says. “And I can convince him.”

**Author's Note:**

> Anyways, if you're at all into Star Trek and you haven't read Chase820's Secret Vulcan Mating Rituals, stop what you're doing and read it immediately. That fic is most of my inspiration for this.
> 
> I've got most of this written, and I have to say, for a fic that I started as an excuse to write Hannibal/Will pon farr smut, this might end up having no smut at all.


End file.
